Moment
by Rjalker
Summary: One of the sequals to Never Leave You. A glance into the mind of the unknown as it comes to realize itself. Total chaos. Appologies in advance.


**Moment**

**Created on 3/31/13, 4ish? Maybe? PM**

**Typed at 6ish PM.**

**I warn you now. This is the most chaotic thing I have ever written. It is almost nothing more than a stream of consciousness, and consciousness does not believe in things like neat little paragraphs or periods between thoughts or even **_**commas**_**.**

**Please, do **_**not**_** take this as an example for the rest of my writing. This is **_**not**_** how I write. This was done—actually, I don't even **_**know**_** what compelled me to do this—on nothing more than a whim, because I was writing a different story on a piece of paper and I kept getting distracted by trying to figure out what the main character of this actually knows and doesn't know, so much so that I stared making a list, but I realized that that was too unspecific, so I erased that and started writing it in story-ish format, and the next thing I know, I've written five pages and it's turned into this.**

**This will make absolutely **_**no sense whatsoever**_** unless you've read my other BSG story, Never Leave You. I'm not exaggerating here. Zero. Sense. Nada. None at **_**all**_**. Do not even **_**attempt**_** to read this until you click up on my name in the corner and go to my page and click on Never Leave You. Or else, your brain might just explode from confusion.**

**Enjoy…or…whatever it is that this causes you to feel o.O**

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The first thing he knows is, feet away from her, in the hangerdeck, asking her what she's doing. He knows that she's going to do something that will hurt a lot of people, and that he has to stop her. Connected to her as though he can see through her eyes, her memories of Leoben, the name she has given him, are the first and only ways he knows how to act. He knows no other way. He doesn't even know what he's doing. So, he intimidates her without even knowing what the word really means, and keeps an edge to his voice and cannot help but to be amused by her actions. Because, they're supposed to be amusing, right?

Then he sees the way she's shaking, hears the fear in her voice, and notices for the first time the blood on the back of her head that has stained her hair red, and stuck part of it to her skull so that it's almost like a piece of her his missing. That's when he realizes that _she doesn't know what she's doing_. That's when he realizes that she is _afraid_ of him.

Confusion washes over him. Why is she afraid of him? He doesn't _want_ her to be afraid of him. He takes a step forward, trying to figure out what he's doing wrong.

She raises the thing in her hand. A gun, he realizes suddenly, and somehow, even though he didn't know it a moment ago, he knows what a gun is, and what it does. And with _that_ knowledge comes the sudden and horrifying realization that the weapon will not harm him. He doesn't know how he knows, he doesn't even know _anything_, really, but he knows that the bullet she's about to fire, her finger already on the trigger she's an instant away from pulling, will pass right through him and into the crowd of countless innocents that huddle, terrified, behind him and around them.

Her friends—he doesn't know their names, because at this point he's disconnected enough from her mind and how she expects him, as Leoben, to act, and it's like there's this door in between them, and as soon as he stepped through it without her when he realized that he didn't want to act the way he was acting, he cannot cross through it again, that he cannot know their names from her memories—are afraid, and one of them, something with an H, is about to try to grab the gun away from her in a frantic effort to keep her from firing.

But that way only leads to blood and death and horror and screaming, and he cannot bear the thought of it coming to life even as he wonders how he knows what it means, and so it is up to him to stop her. For her sake, and her friend's sake, and for the innocents that crowd the room around them, he has to stop her.

Whether or not he moved, he is still uncertain. But one moment, he's too far away to do anything, and her finger's about to pull the trigger, and the next, he's right in front of her, and his hands are wrapped around hers, and the gun is falling to the ground, but that's okay, he suddenly realizes, because she never disengaged the safety, and, for a moment, the danger has passed, and everyone is safe.

Then she starts to fall—because he's still not managed to completely separate himself from her expectations, and she's still so afraid of him because at that moment he's still someone who should be feared, but he can't worry about that at the moment because she's falling and there's already blood on the back of her head from where she fell before and he doesn't want her to get hurt again, so he finds himself falling with her.

But he doesn't let go of her hands, because the gun is still so near and she might still try to reach for it and he doesn't want her to hurt anyone or herself and because he knows that he wouldn't be able to move the gun out of reach himself because he can't touch it just like it can't touch him, and because her hands beneath his are the first thing he's touched since he found himself suddenly in front of her, and they're the only thing that's chased away the feeling that he's about to fly apart on the wind and they're almost weighing him down so that he doesn't float away and he can't bear to let go because he doesn't want to leave her there alone and he's afraid of what will happen to him if he lets go of her, he's afraid of the nothingness that he seemed to belong to before he found her, and somehow, he knows that if he goes away now, he'll never be able to come back, and if he isn't here with her bad things will happen to her and he doesn't want that to happen.

He doesn't know what he's saying, but his mouth is moving and he's talking, and she's still so afraid of him and it's breaking him to hear the fear in her voice, and he doesn't want her to be afraid of him because he doesn't want to be someone people are afraid of, and he can tell that whatever he's saying is hurting her, and he wants to stop himself from talking, stop himself from saying whatever it is that he's saying that's upsetting her so much, but he can't, because that door in between their heads is still open and he can see her on the other side, and he can't hear what she's saying, but he suddenly knows in the same way that he knows many things, that part of her knows that what she's trying to do is bad, and that part of her knows something the rest of her doesn't want to accept, and that that part of her cannot speak for itself, so it's using _him_ as it's voice so that it can tell the rest of her what it needs to know, because it's the truth, and if she isn't told, she'll do something horrible like she's trying to do now, and even though telling her will hurt her, it'd be worse if she didn't know, worse if it were someone other than _him_ that told her, because she was already afraid of him, already hated him though he wished with all of his being that she didn't, and if one of her friends had to tell her, she'd hate them too, and she'd never forgive them because she's blame them for taking her lie away from her, but she couldn't hate him any worse than she already did even if she tried, so he had to be the one to tell her.

And then the sudden knowledge of _what_ he had to tell her burst upon his mind so suddenly that he almost felt himself slipping away and back into wherever he'd been before he'd gotten there with her, because it was so shocking and painful and sad and _he didn't want to hurt her_ and he _didn't want to tell her_ because he didn't her to hate him even though she already did because if he were her, he'd hate himself too, but he _had_ to tell her because she'd hurt worse if he didn't and he'd much rather she hate him than any of her friends, because they didn't deserve her hate, but he did, because he was still someone who should be feared and hated and now he hated himself, too, but it _didn't matter_ because he _had_ to tell her, and he was so _so_ sorry, but it was the truth and she had to know and she had to remember because he was a coward and he couldn't bring himself to say the words out loud because he still didn't want her to hate him even though he hated himself and the very, _very_ least he could do was to tell her how sorry he was, and he might have even been able to make himself say the words past the part of her that was still speaking through him, and he meant it with all of his soul and both their hearts that were connected, and he wanted her to see how badly he meant them, and he wanted to promise her that he'd never hurt her again, that from now on he's try to be someone she could look at without being afraid of him or hating him even though at that moment he hated himself because he was hurting her, and he thought he might have convinced that part of her that was speaking though him to tell her that, but he wasn't sure because he still couldn't hear what he was saying, because he didn't understand the words being spoken even though he somehow _did_, and then her eyes, which were green, he realized, suddenly finding the name for the color of them, seemed to grow dim, and then they were closing and she was falling again and he caught her before she could hit the ground and laid her as gently as he could on her side because he didn't know how he knew, but he knew that there was something wrong with her back, and he might have said something, but then the door in between their minds slammed shut as her eyes closed, and he wanted to stay with her to make sure she was safe, and, for a moment, he did, and he saw her friends and the one of them that was more than a friend—something with an S—rush toward her to help and he wanted to thank them for taking care of her and not hurting her like he had, and he was about to open his mouth even though he wasn't sure what words to use, but then he disappeared.

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**Finished being typed at 7:37PM**

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**:|**

**Umm…was this absolutely horrific? Did you feel like bashing your head into a wall the entire time? If so, I apologize with all of my heart, and here's a bandage for your bleeding head. *Hands you a bandage and a bottle of motren***

**Um…um…um...yeah. The best explanation I've been able to come up with so far is that it's timey wimey. **

**I'm sorry for whatever pain this may have caused you.**


End file.
